


saturn devouring his son

by snitches_get_stitches



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drabble, Gen, Incest, Molestation, Past Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 15:01:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21499153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snitches_get_stitches/pseuds/snitches_get_stitches
Summary: Fearing that he would be overthrown by one of his children, he ate each one upon their birth.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 125





	saturn devouring his son

**Author's Note:**

> i was sick to my stomach for two days following the 407 reveal. then i wrote this.
> 
> if the tags are triggering for you, please practice self care and don't read this. it's not incredibly graphic but it's more evocative than the show was.

_He was my friend_ , he said. _He was my only friend._

And he remembers. Those strangely tactile memories from when you’re young, when language seems less important. He remembers the texture of his dad’s jacket, the roughness of his stubble, the smell of his aftershave mixed with the smell of burning plastic, hot computer parts. _Dad._

_He was my only friend._

Friends shared secrets. Like when Angela told him she was keeping a kitten in her bedroom, much to her parents ignorance. He liked it when she told him her secrets, as inconsequential as they were back then. It made him feel special. (Later, they’d skip school together to smoke pot in the woods next to the skate park. She’d tell him about losing her virginity, eventually, and he’d make a disgusted face and tell her _gross_.)

His dad made him keep secrets. _Let’s not tell your mom, okay?_ He’d say, and Elliot would nod eagerly. Let himself get hoisted into his dad’s lap and enjoy the warmth, the feeling of being cradled. Big hands wrapped around his middle. Hot breath on his neck. Aftershave. Computer parts.

He liked it.

_I liked it_.

He didn’t know what it _was_ , but he got to spend time with his dad and feel warm and protected. It was their special time. Their little secret.

But then it got worse.

Hands got rougher. Callouses digging into soft skin. Elliot didn’t like it as much anymore, would frown and squirm, would get grunted _Elliot_ s in response, a firm hand on the back of his neck. He was so scared of making his dad mad. _He was my only friend_. So he let his dad _hold_ him a little longer, even though it made him uncomfortable, even though it hurt. _Dad you aren’t supposed to touch me there._ The frantic reassurances. _It’s okay, I promise it’ll feel good_.

_I’m sick, Elliot. Let’s keep this our secret._

Dad’s sick. Dad’s sick. dad’s sick. dads s1ck. dad5 51ck.

(When he’s sixteen, Angela asks, _you ever kiss anybody_ ? He shrugs, uncomfortable, shoulders folding in. _There was this one person._ She asks him if he liked it. He frowns at a cigarette burn on his arm. _At first_.)

He stopped liking it. It just began to hurt, but he didn’t know how to ask his dad to stop. He didn’t want to make him mad. He got better at it, though. More practiced. _Good boy, Elliot. You’re such a good boy._ He liked that part. His mom never called him good.

(He’s twenty-nine, half-naked in a stranger’s apartment. There’s a briefcase full of drugs on the bed in front of him. _Cute little boy like you. The pleasure I could give you…_ )

_Mom, Dad’s sick_.

Door slamming. Instant terror. Shoving Darlene in the closet, rushed reassurances. _Just stay here, don’t come out ‘til dad’s gone, I’ll be right back_. Baseball bat. Aluminum. Sudden, crushing realization as footsteps come up the stairs. _You hurt me. You hurt me. You sick fuck._

_Don’t fucking touch me, I’ll jump_.

(He’s at a party, high as a kite. Angela dragged him here, something about him needing to get laid, and he lets her, knowing she’s just lonely. He is too. It’s why he locks himself in a bathroom with an older boy only an hour or so later, promising to blow him if he’d slip Elliot some morphine pills on the house. _I’m good at it, really,_ he insists, already on his knees and working at the other’s belt. His skin is crawling. He just wants the morphine.)

He’s screaming. _Don’t fucking touch me._ Memories surfacing like glitches. Bedsheets. Aftershave. A hand between his shoulder blades. Something else between his legs. The foreign feeling of something inside of him. A camera running. Burning plastic. Hot computer parts.

Glass shattering, more shouting. _I’ll jump_ , he threatens, and in that moment he feels more powerful than he’s ever felt in his life. The one moment he’s ever had control.

When he jumps, it’s a long overdue fall from grace. He hits the ground hard, fa11s a1eep immediately, skull cracked open and bleeding onto the white white snow. The neighbors are watching.

_(Such a shame. Looks like you have that death wish after all.)_

**Author's Note:**

> some comments would really be appreciated. any and all thoughts welcome. i haven't written anything in four years so i need some honest feedback.
> 
> dec. 3 2019 edit: wow, y'all. i'm truly stunned and humbled by the amount of attention this has received. i expected a couple dozen views and maybe a kudos or two, but the outpouring of appreciation this has gotten... it has honestly winded me. thank you SO MUCH for sharing your love and thoughts with me, esp in relation to such personal and horrific subject matter. it's inspired me to create more. <3


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